I've been enamored by photography from the first time I saw a photograph. Probably, when I was three or four years old. Back then, it seemed like magic and I had to know how and why it worked. A photograph of me held some undefined power over me. It was as if the photograph had captured some part of me in addition to my image.
I began to collect photographs of my family and other people I knew or met. I kept them in a shoebox on the floor of my closet. The box seemed to have an unexplainable energy emanating from the pictures it held.
I constantly pestered family members taking pictures during holidays or other family gatherings. I wanted to take the pictures and, occasionally, they relented, handing me the camera and showing me how to take the picture.
On my seventh birthday, my parents gave me a camera. It wasn't fancy, just a silver Olympus Stylus Epic, 35mm camera. It had a sliding cover to protect the lens and a point and shoot simplicity. They included four rolls of 36 exposure film with developing and a caution to use it carefully since it was a potential expense if I was too aggressive taking pictures.
The first roll of film lasted until the second day after my birthday and my father sent it away for developing. Waiting for the pictures to be returned was torture. While I was waiting, I took a thousand pictures without film, experimenting with angles, light, shadow and composition.
The pictures came back and I was disappointed. About half of them were unusable including one of my shoes while sitting in a chair at the kitchen table. My parents, however, were enthusiastic about the rest of the photos. My dad complemented me about the "outstanding" selection of subjects, mostly pictures of plants and flowers in our garden and a few capturing the occasional squirrel or rabbit that happened by. My mother repeatedly told me that my pictures were better than most of the pictures taken by the adults in our family.
I was very careful with the second roll of film. It took me almost two weeks to find and photograph subjects. My focus was on the natural world, flowers, trees and creatures I found in our garden and the nearby township park. Several pictures included people but only if they added interest or balance for the photo.
I used that camera for almost a decade. My parents, encouraged by what they described as my talent, contributed film and developing. I used whatever money I received for my birthday, Christmas or other holidays to buy more film. My mother proudly showed my pictures to family and friends and many of them contributed both advice and material for my hobby. I, with the help of my father, built a darkroom in the basement of our house and I experimented with various techniques to enlarge, crop and otherwise improve the quality of my images.
I was the family photographer through my teen years. In high school, I took pictures at sports events and three of my photos were reproduced in the local newspaper's coverage. I realized that there was potential commercial demand for my photos. I needed a studio, a place to professionally shoot photos of people.
With help and investment by my father, I built a small studio in the basement next to my darkroom. After high school, I bought a better camera and enrolled in a photography course in the local community college. Most of what they covered I had learned on my own. My sister, Cassie, was two years older than me and she suggested to an about to be married friend of hers with a limited wedding budget that I could take pictures at her wedding for a reasonable price. I shot pictures of the bride in her wedding gown in my studio and during the ceremony. It wasn't a lot of money but it was appreciated.
Digital cameras became available about that time and I bought a semi-professional digital camera. My no longer required darkroom was replaced by an expanded studio, a computer, photo editing software and a quality photo printer.
Shooting pictures of the bride kindled my interest in the human body. Some of my friends were more athletic than I and I drafted them to shoot unusual pictures of their musculature. The results pleased both me and them. Without clearing it with me, one of them entered my photos of him in a local photo contest and one picture won first prize. No cash prize but a measurable increase in my reputation.
Over the next year, I took photos of many of the citizens of our town, from babies to seniors, male and female and all for modest payments. I began to have a real appreciation for the female form. I could take photos in my basement studio but I desperately needed a model and I had no idea where to seek one or what the cost would be.
Once again, Cassie provided her assistance. She volunteered.
For our first photo shoot, I asked her to wear a brightly colored, summer sun dress with minimal makeup and to leave her hair casual. I took a hundred photos of her that afternoon. Initially, she was unable to avoid acting like what she thought a model would act. She assumed many poses that were artificial, overly sexy and inappropriate. Without criticizing her, I convinced her to kick off her shoes, let down her hair and shake it out. I captured several candid photos while she prepared, then I told her to keep moving around the studio, moving in ways that were fun and comfortable for her.
"What do you want me to do, James?" she asked.
I told her to wing it. Nothing she did would be incorrect. Everything was photogenetic. She moved carefully at first but, in a few minutes, she began to move without thought, dancing, hopping, jumping, twirling and generally free. The results were incredible. Cassie and I reviewed the photos on the computer. One photo of her shaking out her hair was amazing, her eyes were closed and her hair sprayed out into the air as she shook her head. Another photo, taken as she spun around and her skirt swung wide and high, revealed the white panties she was wearing.
That photo bothered her. "I'm not happy about you seeing my panties," she complained. "Can you delete it?"
"Cassie," I replied. "It actually one of the better photos. It captures your essence, your absolute delight with being free. I don't want to delete it."
"But it shows my underwear," she cried.
"That's exactly why it's so captivating. In that moment, you didn't care and that's the definition of actual freedom," I told her.
Cassie smiled. "It does, doesn't it?" she asked. "Then please don't show it to mom or dad."
"Cassie, I can't do that. It may be the best photo of you ever and they should see it," I insisted. "I guarantee that they won't notice your panties or not care."
"Really?"
"Really."
"It really is a good picture. You're probably right. Can we take more pictures?" Cassie asked.
"Not today. I'm going to sort through these and keep the best ones. Maybe later in the week," I suggested.
"Let me know," Cassie said and headed for the stairs.
"And Cassie," I called.
She stopped and turned toward me. "What?"
"Next time ditch the panties."
"You wish," she said sternly and marched up the stairs.
The next morning, I was in the basement going through the pictures of Cassie from the previous afternoon. I had separated fifteen of the best pictures in my opinion. Included were the pictures with her hair billowing out from her head and the one with her panties on display. Cassie came down and pulled up a chair next to me. "Those are yesterday's pictures," she observed.
"These are the best ones," I told her.
"Even that one?" she asked pointing to the picture of her spinning with her dress high.
"That one's the best of the bunch," I told her.
"It's tawdry," Cassie commented.
"No. It's magnificent. It's freeing," I insisted.
"Tell me more," Cassie demanded.
"This picture says everything there is to say about a woman. A live woman. A happy woman. A free woman. There is no more beautiful thing in the world than a live, happy, free woman in a body she loves, a body she's willing to share."
"And now, you want to take the picture again without panties?" asked Cassie.
"I do," I admitted. "But I don't think you'll actually do it."
"And what if I would?" asked my sister.
"Cassie, you're my sister," I reminded her. "You wouldn't do that. You can't do that. I wouldn't let you do that."
"I can," she insisted. "I have to."
"Why?"
"That picture," she pointed to the computer screen. "That picture. It speaks to me but I can't quite understand what it's telling me. I have to know and the only way I can think of is to do it again without panties like you suggested," Cassie explained.
"I wasn't serious," I admitted.
"I am. That picture shows me something about myself and I have to know what it is. I'll be back in ten minutes. Have the lights and camera ready."
Cassie ran up the stairs. She was back in less than ten minutes wearing the same dress as yesterday with her hair down and barefoot. I didn't ask about what else she was or wasn't wearing.
"Where do you want to start?" I asked.
